


Where The Coat Lies

by SleepingReader



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Transformation, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Fae & Fairies, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion Go To The Coast, Happy Ending, Hugging!, Humor, Hurt, M/M, Pre-Slash, Rated teen for cursing and boobies, Selkies, badassery, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: In front of him stood Jaskier, in a splendid lilac doublet and matching breeches. He had the topmost buttons undone, which Geralt tried very hard not to think about. Next to him stood a hooded woman, wearing three coats on top of each other. She looked almost oval.'Jaskier.' Geralt said.'Yeah, hi. Look, I know you don't wanna see me, but…'The woman interjected, tossing a bag on the table. It rattled, and a single pearl jumped out and bounced once on the table before Geralt stopped it with a quick hand.The woman in the three coats leaned over the table. Geralt's medallion started to ring a little more. The hoods fell off of the woman's face, revealing eyes that were so wet and black that Geralt couldn't make out an iris.The woman locked eyes with him.Did the sea outside sound louder?Did he smell salt?Then she spoke in a voice that was much lower than Geralt had expected, yet exactly what he had imagined.'A man has stolen my coat and now I'm to be married within a week.'
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 307





	1. Seal's Tale

He made it to the coast, in the end. With Ciri safe and sound in Kaer Morhen, Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel and Coën to look after her, and Yennefer and Triss arriving not long after, Geralt had set out to find a certain bard. He definitely came to that decision all by himself, and certainly not because Ciri had told him to find his friend again.  
He didn't know what he would do if he crossed paths with the bard again. Or what Jaskier would do. Instead of thinking on the subject, Geralt made his way through the kingdoms and surrounding lands. Deavon. Rinde. Vengerberg. He even passed a place called Lettenhove, which Jaskier had mentioned once. Geralt thought that might be where Jaskier had grown up, though the man hardly spoke of his past before Oxenfurt.  
Then, avoiding the ruins of Cintra, he travelled up the coast to Cidaris.  
Jaskier found him first, of course.  
In a tavern in a town called Bremervoort, Geralt sat nursing a pint and was glaring a bowl of fish stew into submission. Though he'd never admit it, he _really fucking hated fish stew_ There were little bones that had no right to be in it, the texture was soft and gummy and the skins kept getting stuck in his teeth. At least the ale tasted good. It was a rather special one, made from potatoes.

He sat, drinking his pint and eating his shitty stew. He kept his ears open for any sounds of monsters (or bards) in the region, but there were none. His trained ears soon attuned to the hubbub at the bar, turning it into white noise. A few rambunctious men, congratulating and toasting another on his upcoming nuptuals. The waves on the dunes of the ocean, outside. The door opening and shutting. Jaskier's lute. A woman with a big coat walking up to the till and ordering a room. The barmaid spilling a drink on her dress and cursing.

He didn't even notice Jaskier's lute until it stopped playing. Something dropped in his stomach, and it took him a while to recognise it. And then two seconds to blame it on the fish stew, instead of the cold grip of anxiousness.  
Jaskier said something in a murmured voice. Geralt could only hear the tail end of it.  
'...Witcher anymore. But I'll introduce you. Not sure if he'll want to see _my_ face though.'  
Geralt concentrated on his pint again. A few seconds later, the unmistakable sound of Jaskier's footsteps came over. It was strange, Geralt noticed once again, that Jaskier always seemed so surefooted when he performed, but when he walked normally, he could stumble on a beetle.  
A second pair of footsteps joined the first. Confident footsteps, and with them came rustling. As if there were three people in cloaks. Or one person…  
Or one person wearing three, Geralt saw, as he finally raised his gaze.  
In front of him stood Jaskier, in a splendid lilac doublet and matching breeches. He had the topmost buttons undone, which Geralt tried very hard not to think about. Next to him stood a hooded woman, wearing three coats on top of each other. She looked almost oval.  
'Jaskier.' Geralt said.  
'Yeah, hi. Look, I know you don't wanna see me, but…'

The woman interjected, tossing a bag on the table. It rattled, and a single pearl jumped out and bounced once on the table before Geralt stopped it with a quick hand.  
The woman in the three coats leaned over the table. Geralt's medallion started to ring a little more. The hoods fell off of the woman's face, revealing eyes that were so wet and black that Geralt couldn't make out an iris.  
The woman locked eyes with him.  
Did the sea outside sound louder?  
Did he smell salt, or was it the fucking stew?  
That wasn't the only thing slightly off about her.  
Her hair seemed wet. And she had dark brown skin flecked with distinct lighter spots around her cheeks, nose and mouth. It almost looked like...  
It almost looked like whiskers.

Then she spoke in a voice that was much lower than Geralt had expected, yet exactly what he had imagined.  
'A man has stolen my coat and now I'm to be married within a week.'

*

She introduced herself as Rin, though her siblings didn't call her that. And she was one of the _narzeczona foka_ , one of the seal-people, the selkies that surrounded the isle of Skellige. Geralt usually didn't bother with them, since they were a generally benevolent folk. Lambert claimed to have kissed one, but he never deigned to mention in which form the _foka_ had been at the time.  
She explained that her coat was stolen while she and her siblings were trading in the town. She and her family dove up pearl-rich oysters and sold them at the market in town, trading them for the fish stew and for bottles of the fine ale.  
Geralt frowned in disgust at the mention of the fish stew, but Jaskier, sitting next to Rin nodded enthusiastically. Tastes differ, he supposed.

Jaskier, in the meantime, was at the edge of his seat, torn between listening and legging it. Every time Geralt glanced his way, his body told him to fly the fuck away, but every time Rin spoke, his curious nature and constant search of a good story kept him stuck to the chair.  
And really, he didn't want to leave anyway. This was too important.

Rin had a pretty good idea of where the coat was and who had taken it, but was not able to communicate the exact location or the name of the thief. That was the trade you got with Chaos; the coat came with a lot of power, and with a curse designed specifically to the _foka_ and the thief.  
'I have three conditions.' Rin said, after Geralt had accepted the deal.  
Geralt inclined his head.  
'I'm coming with you. No one is going to touch my coat again.' Geralt nodded. This seemed fair.  
'At one point, I'm going to start to go… different. Obedient. That's the Chaos messing with my brain. Whatever happens, get me to my coat.' Geralt nodded. He had heard of this before.  
'You have my word. What's the third?'  
'Leave the thief to me.' she said, her slightly too sharp teeth glinting in the candlelight.  
Geralt nodded again. If Jaskier had any grief of Rin suddenly being included, he didn't show it.  
'We'll leave at dawn.' Geralt said.  
Rin nodded. She tucked the three coats she wore more closely around her and went up to her room.

Geralt and Jaskier shared a look, before they both remembered that they weren't friends anymore. Geralt looked back at his pint.  
'Uh, well, I…' Jaskier said, standing up too quick and knocking over the chair. He winced, glancing over at Geralt, who had only blinked once at the noise.  
'Well. Uh.' Jaskier began again, slinging his lute over his shoulder and turning away. 'See you ar-'  
'Do you want some stew?' Geralt's voice called after him, strong enough to carry but soft enough that only Jaskier could hear. He didn't want it too, but a tiny spark of hope blinked to life behind his eyes. Jaskier turned around and found the Witcher glaring into his pint again.  
'You're gonna have to do better than that.'  
With that, Geralt finally looked up at Jaskier.  
Who was smirking.  
What the fuck?

'So,' Jaskier said, conversationally, his grin only getting wider with each word. 'Found your Child Surprise?'  
'...Yeah.'  
'She is safe, I'm guessing.'  
'As safe as she can be.'  
'And I'm betting she told you off about me.'  
'She… She did. Jaskier, I-'  
'Yeah, yeah yeah, you want to apologise, you were a complete dickhead on that mountain, broke my fucking heart, blah blah blah.' Jaskier interjected, waving his hands around as if he were miming a hand puppet. 'Bet you thought I'd stay and wait for you, huh?' Jaskier winked at him.  
'Hm.'  
'I didn't. Because in the 22 years I've known you, staying and waiting for you hasn't worked. You know what did work, though Geralt?' Jaskier asked, sliding Geralt's bowl of stew over to himself and grabbing his spoon.  
'What?'  
'Me, leaving. Got you to the coast. And I got you to claim that Child Surprise.'

*

They rose early the next day, Geralt already recognising Rin's footsteps impatiently walking to and fro in the hallway. Jaskier's joined her quicker than Geralt had anticipated, the bard preferring to sleep in most days. Then again, it had been a while.  
They left Roach and Jaskier's own mare, Buttercup, in the stables at the inn. Rin had provided with enough pearls that the innkeeper promised to take only the best of care of them. He even made them a few portions of his famous fish stew for the road. Geralt was able to buy a loaf of bread and some potatoes as well.

Due to her curse, Rin wasn't able to speak of the location of the coat, but could definitely point the way by using other means. A change in her heartbeat. A slight turn of her head. Geralt picked them all out. But it seemed the coat had been dragged around for an entire day, making it harder to track the scent. The search was annoying, and they ended up following their own footprints more than once.  
It would have been unbearable, if it weren't for Jaskier.  
The bard had learned some sea shanties in his time by the coast and enjoyed singing them to his audience.  
Geralt was so grateful to hear Jaskier's voice again that he only commented on one of the songs once, and that was to talk about a sea monster that didn't exist.  
Rin disagreed, telling a story about a giant mouth in the ocean.  
It was so detailed, it felt real.

By nightfall, they had made some result. Apparently, Rin's coat thief lived in a fancier part of a neighboring town, one that had miles long driveways. They made camp for the night, at a clearing with a lake near a crossroads between pathways. They had narrowed it down to those two. One of them had to be the one.

Having eaten a lot of fish stew, and most of Geralt's portion as well, Rin bundled herself up in her three coats and laid down on her side, staring at the fire.  
'Cold?' Jaskier asked kindly. Rin's dark wet eyes stared back at them.  
'It's too light. Empty.' She said. 'My coat is so… _heavy._ '  
She told them that her coat held so much blubber that even without food, she could survive for a long time. But no matter how much fat her current form still had, she would never be complete.  
Lore said that her kinspeople who had had their coats stolen eventually found it again, through their children. But Rin said that those stories were the rare ones with a happy end. _Foka_ without their coats withered away, until nothing was left but skin and bones and marks where once whiskers had been.  
Jaskier took off his own cloak, and put it over her.  
Rin said: 'Don't you need it?'  
'You need it more.' Jaskier said.  
Rin smiled weakly at him.

When she fell asleep, Jaskier and Geralt sat back to back, like they usually did when they didn't want to sleep just yet. Unusually, Jaskier wasn't humming or singing. He seemed a little down, looking out at the lake solemnly. He had dipped his feet in earlier, but had winced at the cold and then frowned.

'You. Ehm. You should have seen Ciri's face when I told her what happened on that mountain.' Geralt offered, trying to cheer his friend up. And yes, Jaskier was his friend. What of it?  
Jaskier's faint smile could be heard through his words: 'I used to play at her name day. Queen Calanthe wouldn't let many people near her, but King Eist sometimes asked me to play marbles with her. She absolutely kicked my ass every single time.'  
Geralt huffed out a laugh. 'She's good at tactics.'  
'Good at shouting, too, for what I heard.'  
'My ears didn't stop ringing until I got to Vengerberg.'  
Jaskier laughed again.  
'What've you been up to, Jaskier? While I was…'  
'Being a dickhead? Oh, not much.' Jaskier's voice became slower as sleep nearly overtook him. 'Wrote some songs, taught at Oxenfurt, slept with some people, became a spy for Redania… wrote some more songs…'  
'You're a spy?'  
'Part-time.' This last part was said through a yawn.

Geralt wasn't able to ask any more questions, for the bard's head had lolled back and fallen onto Geralt's shoulder.  
Stirring a bit first, making sure Jaskier was asleep, Geralt gently eased the bard down onto Jaskier's own bedroll, making sure his head was on a pillow. Jaskier mumbled something about picnics and ants and lakes before settling down and placing a hand on his lute-case.  
As if in reply, Rin, from the other side of the fire, uttered a short, seal-like bark.  
Geralt eased into a gentle meditation, hoping the next night wouldn't bring more fucking fish stew. Nothing much happened that night, save for some rabbits getting startled by a drunk man staggering home, held up by his friends. Geralt made note of where he went.

The next day dawned and Rin looked pale, even paler than she had been before. Her black skin was still dark, but it had lost some of its wetness and glow. Even her grey-ish black hair seemed to have dried. She seemed… demure. Almost defeated.  
It took a while to rouse her from her sleep, and even then she walked weaker than she had been. When they came to the fork in the road, she sniffed the air but shook her head. Her knees buckled, and Jaskier and Geralt had to start helping her walk.

Luckily, Geralt had been paying attention the night before, and directed the small group to the left fork. A wedge of large white birds flew overhead, and Jaskier looked up at them before shaking himself and hoisting Rin's arm up on his shoulder.

The house was so big it held its own graveyard. The entire clan of the wealthy merchants who lived there were buried and born and loved in that house. Bremervoort didn't hold much stock to royalty, but these merchants were as good as any to run the town.  
The house faced the forests, but stood on a large cliff, facing the sea.  
Gravestones littered the back garden, with a large tomb in the center of it.

Something happened to Rin when they walked up to the door. She started walking a little more stronger, but also a little less like herself. Her sure footsteps, which had spoken of confidence before, now seemed to be more like the shy shuffling of a ladies maid.  
Geralt looked sideways at Rin and saw that she was wearing a polite and kind smile. Her normally wet eyes seemed glossed over, but not in a good way.  
'Geralllt…' Jaskier started.  
'I see it too.' he said, quickly laying a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.'  
'She's not looking good.' Jaskier said, to make sure. Then he rang the doorbell.

A haughty, slightly crazy-eyed looking woman opened the door, whose entire face tightened at the sight of Rin. Then it softened, but it didn't seem real.  
'Rosie, by my word! What have you been doing?' she said softly, angrily.  
A flash of anger crossed Rin's face, but it somehow softened back into that demure, glossy look.  
'I found some friends, mother'  
'Not your mother yet, dear Rosie! But almost!'  
'How is my..' Geralt could see Rin struggle with the word. '...love?'  
'Oh, you know how he can be, my dear. He's asleep. Let's have brunch, shall we. It's so good to see that you've come around a little.'  
'My... friends…' Rin muttered.  
'Oh, yes yes, thank you for getting Rosie home to her fiancé. I'm sure you have somewhere else to be…?' It wasn't a question.  
But Jaskier was very hard to get rid of.  
'Oh, no, dear lady, I have nothing to occupy my time at the moment! Thank you so much for the invitation. We would love to have lunch with you!'  
And with that, Jaskier waltzed into the hall, chattering and acting like he owned the place.

Lunch was a nightmare, but it didn't bring more fish stew. Instead, it brought only vegetables, which Rin pulled her nose up at first, but at a glance of the merchant's widow, ate them as if she had never had such a good meal.  
Shit, Geralt missed meat.  
About ten minutes into a very awkward lunch, a very pale-faced young man with blonde hair to match his mother's took one look inside the dining room, at Rin and at Geralt, and bolted.  
Jaskier broke the silence a while later, saying that something hadn't agreed with him and stormed out of the room, his hand in front of his mouth.  
That left Geralt alone, with a diminishing _foka_ and what might have been a seal-coat's thief.  
Times like these, he wished he had Jaskier's talent for easy conversation. Or a sword. Either.  
Thank goodness, the bard returned soon enough, looking only slightly pale. One glance at Geralt told the Witcher enough.  
'Thank you for your hospitality, ma'am. We'll take our leave now.'

*

Once outside, Geralt pulled Jaskier out of eyesight of the house.  
'Oh, that's a bit soon, don't you think?' Jaskier said saucily.  
'Did you find it? Rin's coat?' Geralt growled.  
Jaskier shook his head. Geralt's shoulders slumped.  
'But I do know where it's hidden.' he said.

*

  
Jaskier started to explain.  
Turns out, the pale-faced young man had been at the bar earlier. Had seen Rin making a deal with Geralt and had gotten himself drunk enough to never be able to walk home again. Sadly, his doting friends had carried him.  
Truth was, the man never wanted anything to do with the _foka_ , simply expressing to his mother that he might like to get married to a lovely woman one day.  
His mother retorted that there were no young women left in the town to marry.  
He had replied that there was one, a very special one.  
Little did she know that who the young man actually meant was next door's merchant's daughter, who used to be a merchant's son.  
Instead, the old widow, desperate for heirs to the estate, had stolen a _foka's_ coat and had hidden it in plain sight.  
What's the best way to hide a piece of someone who used to be alive?

*

Jakub Ostryga, only son and heir of the Ostryga estate, sat in his room with his hands in his hair. That poor girl downstairs. Why his mum had done such a thing, while Hanna, the blacksmith's daughter, was _right there_ was beyond his imagination.  
He had tried to explain it to his mother, but his mother had grown into such a rage that he had retreated to the town and the tavern.  
But this was not only his mother's fault. It was his, too, for not bringing back the coat when he could, getting incredibly drunk instead. The bard had been quite clear on that.  
He had to make this right.

After dinner, he invited Rosie, Rin, his… fianceé, out for a stroll. Rosie only wore a single cloak, now. They passed by the forests, where Jaskier and Geralt were waiting for them. Jaskier had been quite persuasive.  
They followed the 'happy couple', slinking in the shadows of the trees, unseen by the ever watchful eyes of big houses. They made their way to the edges of the cliffs, where the gravestones were.

Geralt had to open the tomb for them. There was nothing to stop the rumbling of the old stone, and somewhere in the house, a light turned on. Geralt retreated into the darkness, unseen.  
Rosie, for she only responded to that name now, looked dully into the darkness Jakub pointed her to.  
'Why these old bones, my love?' she asked.  
But before Jakub or any of the others could answer, a woman was shrieking down the lawn. She was in a nightgown, wearing a night cap and was holding a very large, silver, candlestick.  
'JAKUB, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?' the lady of the house yelled shrilly.  
'What I should have done two days ago, mother!' Jakub shouted.  
His mother raised the candlestick, ready for the blow. Jakub jumped in front of Rosie. Geralt moved to parry, but for the first time in a long time, he was too late. And that was only because Jaskier stopped his hand.  
Jakub collided with the candlestick and Rosie tumbled into the tomb, losing her cloak, crashing down upon a skeleton.  
'Jaskier, what the fuck!' Geralt whispered angrily. Jaskier only held a finger to his lips. Pointed to the open space.  
Jakub's mother fussed and fretted over her son. She didn't even see the scene happening in the tomb.  
  


When a _foka_ finds her coat, all hell breaks loose.

  
The waves breaching on the cliffs grew louder. Seals started barking. The sky turned a mottled grey.  
And a _growl_ came from inside the tomb, a growl that makes you look past the blubber and the happy little face. A growl that makes you see the hunter inside.  
Jakub's mother raised her silver candlestick. Jaskier let Geralt go.  
But this wasn't Geralt's fight.  
Cleverly twisting the candlestick out of Jakub's mother's hand, Geralt threw the silver metal away.

Rin stepped out of the tomb. A grey coat hung around her, still a bit dusty, but wet all the same. It dropped her shoulders, which had been hunched before. It seemed to slow down her step, until it didn't. Standing upright for the first time, Rin was a full two heads taller than the old merchant's widow.  
As quick as she was in the water, as quick she could move on land, now. She grabbed the old hag by the throat and raised her in the air, her feet dangling.  
'You. Took. My coat.' Rin growled. The waves smashed against the cliff, higher and higher. The grass was getting wet with salt water. The sea _roared_  
'You. Took. My life.' Rin growled, her teeth even sharper. She started dragging the widow down to the cliffs.  
A giant wave crested the horizon. A wave. With a mouth.  
All stories are true, in the end.

*

Jakub woke up.When someone told him what had happened, he went back to sleep.  
Half a year later, he married Hanna.

*

Rin's fury had not only wiped out the life of the coat-stealing merchant's widow, it also had wiped out the entire cliff the house had been built on. Treasure seekers were sifting through the sands at the beach. Geralt and Jaskier, at Rin's first growl, had grabbed Jakub under the elbows and ran like hell. They had been spared.

They walked on the beach now, Rin walking with them, as companions by choice. Walking her to the reef where her family waited for her.  
'I won't forget this.' Rin said. 'If you ever come into trouble near the coast, call for me. I'll hear.' she said.  
'I hope you'll be on our side.' Jaskier joked.  
'I'd have to be stupid not to, brother.'  
Jaskier laughed, but it sounded pained.  
'Brother?' Geralt said.  
'Jaskier. Are you saying he hasn't figured it out yet?'  
Jaskier shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.  
Rin turned to Geralt.  
'He's been with you for twenty-two years. And I bet he still looks the same.' Rin mused, walking into the waves. 'I bet he doesn't speak of his home. Looks up at the sky, longing. And he never wears white. And humans? They call him 'songbird' when he sings like every song could be his last. A true _swan-song,_ for a humble bard.'

'What's happened? What's wrong?' Geralt asked frantically, looking over at Rin, who was stomach-deep in the salty water reef already.  
'He can tell you, if you ask the right question. You know the question, don't you, Witcher?' Rin said, her face now just barely above the water.  
A soft splash, and she was gone.

And Geralt, with a flashback of his books on Chaos, remembered.  
Seal-folk aren't the only ones that sometimes transform.

Jaskier turned to Geralt, grabbed him by his shoulders. Pleading with his entire being.  
'Ask me, Geralt. _Please_. I can only tell you if you ask.'  
'Jaskier.'  
'Yes.' The word was a dry sob.  
'Where's your coat?'  
Jaskier started crying, falling forward into Geralt's arms, clinging, sobbing. He couldn't speak, not until Geralt clumsily ran a hand down his back.  
Even then, only two words came out of the tear-run bard. But those words were enough.  
'Father… Lettenhove.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear reader, for your time  
> I'm asking for kudos with this rhyme  
> I don't have a beta reader here with me  
> But I'll correct stuff tomorrow, you'll see!  
> Toss me a comment if you think it'll belong  
> And click on for the next chapter: Swan Song


	2. Swan Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier had been allowed to keep his coat until he was fifteen years old.

He had been allowed to have the coat until he was fifteen years old.  
He never remembered it being taken. He just remembered falling asleep while hugging it and waking up without.

*

´Mum?' Julian came in to the dark room. She was laying on the bed.  
She was looking paler every day. Thinner. Skinnier. Just like he felt. He was only 17, but she… She had been alive a long time. Before… Before their coats got stolen.  
She stroked his hair. 'Hello, my little buttercup.'  
'I looked again.'  
'Jaskier, you know your father doesn't want us to…'  
'I got yours first, mum. I found it.' Tears leaked through his eyes, dripping onto the mass of black feathers in his hands and mingling with his mother's tears. Some of the once sleek black feathers looked singed from the quicksilver and iron box they had been kept in.  
She escaped through the window.  
Some stories do have a happy end.

*

'Father, please. Father, you have to show me. Please. You can't just take it!'  
'I can. Either you obey and have it, or leave without and never say a word about it to anyone.' His father spoke from his high chair.  
And Jaskier felt it, the Chaos nipping at the weak golden thread holding him to his life. His love. His coat. Compelling him to obey. To be a good son.  
But he would not be blackmailed.  
He tore himself from the longing, the weakness and the wanting.  
He tore himself from his true love, his _soul_. And he walked out the door, tears streaking down his face, but free.  
And he sang. He sang his lament, his song, as if it was his last.  
He never stopped walking. And he never stopped singing.

He tried to lose himself in other people. In bright colors. Always trying to find someone that might _understand_. He found an instrument that sort of looked like the shape he once was. He was surprised to learn that his hands could almost play it already.

But he never stopped searching. Hoping, praying, that one day, someone would ask the question.  
But no one ever did.

*

'I love how you sit in a corner and brood…' ~~Your hair is white. Are you like me? Please be like me. Please help me.~~  
'I'm here to drink alone'  
 _And I should be amongst the clouds, we don't always get what we want._

*

'What's with the colors, can't you wear something muted for once?'  
'I can't... ~~stand to wear white again, not again, not while I don't have it, not while~~ … dress in muted colors, Geralt. No one would notice me!'  
'And now the drowners will'

*

'I can't believe you forgot the word for 'swan'!'  
'Shut up, Yennefer.'

*

'Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck with apoplexy and die. Secondly, the Countess de Stael must welcome me back with glee, open arms and very little clothing. Thirdly!'  
'Jaskier. Stop.' Geralt said, hauling him back by the scruff of his neck.  
 _Thirdly, may my coat be found and returned to me safely,_ Jaskier thought, but he hadn't been able to say it the first two times, either.

*

His clothes never felt tight enough.

*

'I'm cold.'  
'You're always cold.'  
 _Darling, you have no idea._  
'Not always.'

*

He threw punches, but they never felt _strong enough_

*

  
'Why the fuck would you try to swim in a freezing glacial river?'  
 _Because it didn't feel freezing when mum and I came here._  
'F-Fell in.'

*

'You have the most incredible neck. Like a ~~swanswanswanswan~~ sexy goose.' Fuck.  
  


*

'See you around, Geralt'  
 _Maybe next time we'll meet I'll have found my wings again._

*

And then, after years of waiting and wanting, the question came.  
'Jaskier.'  
'Yes.' He could barely get it out. He was choking on air. As if feathers had nestled themselves in his lungs.  
'Where's your coat?'  
And then the dam broke. More than twenty years of hoping, yearning, longing.  
He wept like a child. Collapsed into his renewed friendship and held tight, as tight as he had tried to hold to his coat as it was taken away from him. He tried to form a coherent sentence, but the tears wouldn't let him. It was only when he felt Geralt's steady hands against his back that he could gasp out a few words.  
'Father... Lettenhove.'

And Geralt held him tighter, almost tight enough. He let him cry, stroking his back.

*

They set out the same day. Roach, and Buttercup, Jaskier's grey horse, saddled up and gotten ready for the journey.  
'You named your horse after yourself?' Geralt asked, as they lead the horses to the edge of town.  
'What, Julian?' Jaskier asked.  
Geralt sighed. 'Buttercup.'  
'I wanted to name her ~~swanswanswan~~ after my species, but I can't say the fucking word.'  
'Hm.'

'Ask me again?'  
'Where's your coat, Jaskier?'  
'My coat is in my father's house in Lettenhove, in the…' He found he couldn't continue. Geralt laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
'I'll ask again in a couple hours.'

It was nightfall when Jaskier dared to ask. He had wanted to, but could never dare to presume that Geralt would even want to help him more than he already was. Another damsel to save.  
'Geralt?'  
'You're cold.'  
'I'm always cold.'  
'Is it because…?'  
'Yeah. Yeah, it's because.'  
Geralt brought his bedroll closer to Jaskier's. Covered them both with his enormous black cloak.  
Jaskier sighed slightly, and dared to scoot just a little closer. Geralt wordlessly slung an arm around him.  
'I should have known.' Geralt said into his hair. It tickled.  
'You couldn't.'  
'My medallion.'  
'It doesn't ring because I walked away myself. I- I left it.'  
Geralt asked the question again, like he had done every few hours on their journey.  
'Where is your coat, Jaskier?'  
Jaskier's throat bobbed with the emotion.  
'My coat is in my family's house in Lettenhove, in the attic, in a-'  
Silent tears crept out again before he could continue. But he kept trying.  
'In the attic, in a box meant for…'  
His throat seized up, and he couldn't speak anymore.

It took them a few weeks to get to Lettenhove, Geralt sometimes being offered side-jobs, some of which he couldn't help but accept. A golem terrorising a small town near the ruins of Cintra. A man who claimed to have been attacked by a Barghest, which turned out to be a very exitable wolfdog, intent on the stick the man had been carrying.  
Jaskier didn't know how he would act in Lettenhove, if he would become as demure as Rin had become, or if his coat would even still fit and work for him. And he couldn't even voice these concerns to Geralt.

He and Geralt had found out that Jaskier couldn't volunteer information about himself, but he could be asked. It was a game of sorts. To waste away the hours on marshy roads and sleepy towns, they asked questions. Learned more about each other on the way. Jaskier found out that Geralt had a monster bestiary inside his brain, and was still annoyed at Borch for claiming he was a dragon.  
'He has no front legs, he's a fucking golden wyvern.'  
Geralt also knew a lot about foraging, hunting, making rope, breeding horses and, surprisingly, knitting. (When pressed about the knitting, Geralt only muttered something about being bored during the Plague.)

Geralt, in exchange, found out that, yes, Jaskier used to be able to turn into a swan. He was, indeed a _łabędź_. He didn't quite remember what kind it was, exactly, but he did remember being large. He also found out that Jaskier knew quite a lot about constellations, myths and folklore, women's reproductive systems and could also play any stringed instrument and also the hurdy-gurdy, though very badly.  
The only thing that the bard wasn't able to say was the location of his coat. Geralt asked him every day, but Jaskier's throat kept closing up.

Until they reached Lettenhove.  
'Remind me, where's your coat again?'  
Jaskier took a deep breath. 'My coat is in that house over there, in the attic,' he pointed towards the small castle on top of the hill. 'It's in a box meant for costumes and fancy dress.' He blinked a couple of times.  
'You did it.' Geralt said.  
'I did it.' Jaskier said. 'I SAID IT!' he shouted, and flung himself at his friend, hugging the Witcher tightly. It took a moment, but Geralt's arms closed around him.  
'He put your coat in a fucking dressing - up box.' Geralt growled.  
'That's one way to hide an identity' Jaskier agreed, tucking his head into Geralt's neck, hoping he could one day do this in his true form.

*

'How are we going to do this?' Jaskier asked. 'Doubt that he'll just let me in.'  
Geralt grunted.  
In the end, it was agreed that Geralt would provide a distraction and Jaskier would sneak into the servant's entrance in disguise.

*

Maybe it had been a bad idea to bring the fight to the castle's doorstep. Geralt needed only to have a quick sniff around. He put his face to the ground and his medallion whined.  
He had been hoping for a kikimora, or maybe a selkiemore. Something large but not that hard to get rid of. But one of his fellow Witchers had gone through the forest in search of quick kills and coin. Fuck. This would have to do.  
He was baiting the Zeugl that had taken residence in the sewers below the castle and the town when he saw Jaskier bolt away from a house with painted windows. He was holding something, which fluttered behind him. A naked woman, clutching her bare breasts so they wouldn't bounce so much, tried darting after him, yelling at him to give back her dress.  
When Jaskier proved too quick for her, she stood in the middle of the towns square.  
A few men whistled at her, and she fiercely strode up to them. 'This body is for sale, and there ain't any free samples. Pay up or turn 'round.'  
To Geralt's surprise, the men each dug into their pockets and produced some coin. She dropped her hands and gave them a little twirl. Then, she walked back into the house, swaying her hips.

Jaskier emerged from between two buildings, wearing what Geralt supposed was a lovely pink silk dress and holding what seemed to be a bedsheet.  
'So, do I look like a servant girl?'  
Geralt took one look at Jaskier's rather hairy chest, his four o'clock shadow and raised a single eyebrow.  
'Yeah, yeah ok, but if I do this?' Jaskier put the sheet over his head, and somehow contorted his entire face into an uncanny resemblance of an old woman.  
'How the fuck?'  
'I'm a bard. And also a ~~shapeshifter~~ master of disguise. Oh, hey! I can say 'master of disguise'! But can I say ~~swan~~ large white waterfowl yet? Aw, shit.'

A low growl emitting from the sewers told Jaskier it was time to go and Geralt it was time to get to work.  
'Break a leg' Geralt muttered.  
Jaskier pressed a quick kiss to the Witcher's lips and ran off.  
'For good luck!' Jaskier hollered over his shoulder.  
Was that new? Did they do that before? Geralt was pretty sure that was new.

Luck, it seemed, wasn't on their side.  
Sometimes, the plan you're making works out perfectly.  
Other times, it goes entirely shitfaced.

A tentacle crept out of the sewer, took the bait and chomped happily down. Then, the low growl retreated.  
Geralt cursed outright. He had been hunting a zeugl, but someone had hunted it first and had charmed it. A parazeugl did no harm to anyone, being magically changed to be benevolent and just cleaned the sewers, even though it was a little loud sometimes.  
Right after that, a scream came out of the kitchens.  
'I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, IT'S YOUNG MASTER JULIAN!'  
Hm. Fuck.

*

It wasn't a throne room, but it could have been. Jaskiers father, Alfred Pankraz, sat on a large chair on a sort of podium. Jaskier knew that the back of the podium was just wooden pallets stacked on each other, but it looked very regal when he was brought in front of it. He had wondered before if his father sat on the throne every day, if it was his favourite chair or if Jaskier just always happened to be brought in when he was sitting on it.  
Current Jaskier suddenly realised that his father had meant to scare him. Scaring a young boy into obedience.  
Scaring him like he was scaring him now.  
Jaskier stood on the too-polished floor he had slipped on many times. Saw his own nervous face reflected in the mirror facing the wall. Saw the faces of his male-line ancestors from the paintings at his father's back. But they never had his dark hair, or his eyes. Dusty, powdered blond hair with pale green eyes gazed back at him.  
'Pay attention, boy!' Ah, good old dad, getting your attention.  
His father scoffed. 'Always a dreamer, head in the clouds. Tell me, Julian… Where's your coat?' Jaskier said nothing.  
'Speak, boy!'  
'It's in the attic, in a box meant for dressing-up.'  
'And there it will stay. Unless…?'  
'I'm not here to negotiate.'  
'Pity. You could have made a great viscount. If you had just stopped your… tendencies and let me teach you. Instead of running after people who will leave you when they hear how _poor_ you really are.'  
'I am richer than you, father.'  
His father shook his head. 'Nonsense.'  
  


*

With half the household listening at the door to the room Jaskier had been brought to, Geralt was able to take a page out of Jaskier's book and walked in like he owned the place. In the time he had spent with the bard, he had gotten a thorough layout of the house, Jaskier having drawn it out for him, if they ever needed a plan B.  
Servant's entrance, left at the statue with the large breasts, right at the tapestry of the man with the remarkably small cock. Up the stairs.  
'Excuse me, sir, what is your business here?' Geralt was stopped by a portly and demanding looking butler halfway up the stairs.  
'Pest control.'  
'Oh, that won't be necessary, we have not had any-'  
'Tell that to the giant centipede in the floorboards.'  
The man gulped and turned to rush down the stairs.  
Pompous arsehole.

Up the stairs. He passed a blue bedroom decorated for a young man. A wolf plush lay ready in a bed that would never be slept in. The wolf was white. Geralt considered bringing it.

To the second pair of stairs, up to the single tower. Then, getting up the ladder to the attic.  
Geralt held in a sneeze.  
No burst of sunlight from the skylight shone on it, but it might have been. Geralt's medallion started humming immediately in the presence of magic as he turned towards the dark brown chest with the metal edges.  
There was a lock on it.  
Geralt didn't really believe in locks. He pulled it off.  
Opened the chest.  
Reached out.  
But he couldn't touch the mass of white feathers that lay inside. How could he? He had never asked Jaskier if he could. His hand hovered over the coat inside.  
The feathers rose, as if the coat was breathing. As if it was fluffing up.  
It touched his hand first.

*

'You don't understand. I am rich in song, in stories, in memory, experiences. Love.'  
'Ha. How could you ever be rich in love? Who would love _you_?'  
'Mother loves me. My friends love me.'  
'And still, you are not whole. Tell me, _Julian_. Where is your coat?'  
The sound of a scuffle came from outside. The door broke off of its hinges by a quick use of Aard.  
'Guards! Guards!' Alfred Pankraz shouted.  
Geralt strode into the room, holding something white folded over his arm.  
Jaskier looked at his frantic father, beaming.  
'My coat is right here.'

Rin's coat had been a full-bodied cloak-like coat.  
When Geralt held Jaskier's coat up for him to slip into, it was more of a feathered hood, or a cowl.  
Jaskier hadn't need to worry. It still fit perfectly.  
Brilliant white, it covered Jaskier's shoulders and the top of his doublet, reaching to the center of his chest and stretching out primary feathers over his upper arms.  
Geralt had the feeling that if Jaskier stretched his arms inward and extended them again, those arms would be wings.

Ten heavily armoured guards ran in, swords raised.  
'Oh, _fun_ ,' Jaskier said, stretching his shoulders and grinning.  
'I can take them.' Geralt said softly.  
'So can I.' Jaskier said. He pulled in his arms.

When a _foka_ finds her coat, all hell breaks loose.  
When a _łabędź_ finds his coat, all sound stops.

Have you ever been in a forest just before a thunderstorm? The birds stop singing. The crickets go quiet. It seems even the wind stops rustling the trees, waiting.  
It was the loudest silence anyone had ever heard.

The first guard to make a move got a face full of angry swan.  
The second guard got a dagger in his shoulder, courtesy of an angry Witcher.  
Right as Jaskier bit down in a chink in the armour of the tenth guard, something whistled through the air.  
Geralt stepped in front of the _łabędź_. Growled once at the Viscount on his make-believe throne and thumped to the floor.  
With that, the silence broke.

Jaskier's wings pulled back his hood and he was human again, like it was a trick of the light. The one you see in paintings where first it looks like two people facing each other and you look again and it has always been a vase.  
'Geralt!' he ran to him, first punching the last guard in the face for good measure.  
'Son of a bitch.' His father cursed, getting down from his throne. Jaskier could see he walked with a limp, but held a tiny crossbow in his hand.  
He could smell it before his father could say anything. Sharp and pointy, not unlike the smell of one's own blood.  
'Quicksilver and lead..' he gasped, trying to shake Geralt awake while looking at his father.  
'The only thing that could kill a _łabędź_.'  
Something clicked.   
'Mum… Our illness…'  
'Isn't it easy to slip something into someone's food?' Alfred Pankraz said, stepping off the podium and trying to put a new bolt in his crossbow.  
'Last words, swan.' he said, as he held Jaskier in near point-blank range. Ah, monologuing. A favourite of his father. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew where he got his sense of drama from.  
'I'm not just a swan,' Jaskier said calmly, delighting in saying the word. He got up, staring down the bolt at his miserable excuse for a parent.  
'I'm also the best bard on the continent.' A slow smile spread on his face. He went to stand in front of Geralt, protecting him.  
'Want to hear my swan-song, father?'  
His father made to pull the trigger, but Jaskier was first.  
He opened his mouth.

There are opera stars that can sing such a high note that it will shatter glass.  
Have you ever heard of a note that can shatter an entire throne room?  
Now you have.

Jaskier had always been good at projecting his voice, and that high note that cracked the mirrors and sent the throne crashing through the podium but left Geralt and the servants protected. He kept it, singing like had been taught and taught himself. The crossbow dropped and the bolt shot into the floor. Alfred Pankraz, elder viscount de Lettenhove stumbled back and started bleeding from his nose. But Jaskier wasn't done. He took a deep breath and launched into song.  
It was a sea shanty. Bawdy, dirty and raw.  
It broke down the walls of the castle of Lettenhove.  
A single corridor lead outside, somehow protected.  
Jaskier carried Geralt through it.

*

It was dark, but there was a bright white.  
Then, the bright white turned into singing, and faded. The image of spread wings was burned into his retina.  
He was swimming in a dark pond. Stars flew overhead. No, not stars. Swans. Swooping gracefully.  
He tried to swim upwards. To the largest swan, one as big as the moon. It stroked his cheek… Almost there...

Drifting into consciousness, Geralt was vaguely aware of a feather against his cheek as a spoon was put into his mouth. Oh, right, ha ha, his arms didn't work. He accepted the spoonful, but decided to lose consciousness again when he realised what was in it.  
He _really fucking hated_ fish stew.

*

A large, ice cold lake sat spread out in the clearing of a forest, and Jaskier was splashing around in it in delight. Geralt sat on the edge, on a log, dangling his feet in the water like he was a child.  
Jaskier hadn't remembered, but Geralt could see that the bard was a kind that they call a mute swan, but with a black beak. A misnomer, of course, based on a legend that all swans were mute before singing their final song.   
Jaskier hadn't sung his final song. Sure, he had sang _a_ song, and had gotten a sore throat for two days, but after that, he kept humming whatever tune came into his head. Even in swan form. 

Geralt looked out contentedly at his friend.   
  
Jaskier went under water for a long time before coming up with some weeds in his beak, which he chewed on and then immediately spat out. Geralt barked out a laugh.  
'Can't be worse than fish stew.'  
'Oh, really?' Jaskier said, turning back to a half-naked bard with a wet coat and sinking immediately. He spluttered a bit when he came up, swimming over to Geralt and splashing at him. 'You try eating this, see how you feel!' he said, offering Geralt some of the algae.  
Geralt ate it without breaking his gaze.  
'Better than fish stew. Can I have some more?'

They sat in companionable silence for a while, next to each other on the log.  
'I touched your coat.' Geralt said.  
'Uh, yeah, I know.'  
'I'm sorry I had to.'  
'Geralt, trust me. Of all the people in this whole wide world I'd trust with my coat, it's you. Why, d'you want to feel again?'  
'Only if you'll let me.'  
Jaskier took Geralt's hand and put it on his shoulder.  
After a while, he transformed, came closer and lay his long neck around Geralt's. A swan-like hug. _Finally_.  
Sitting like this, Jaskier could feel Geralt's slow heartbeat. He could also feel that something was troubling him.  
So he transformed back and sat next to him again.

'Oh, spit it out, you big lug. What, scared that I'll hit _you_ in the balls this time? These wings _were_ made for hitting, though, so…'  
'Swans mate for life, right?' Geralt interjected his train of thought.  
'Yeah. Not sure if I'll go in for that. You're my favourite, but there's just so much beauty around.'  
Geralt's nervousness disappeared.  
'There is.' He agreed wholeheartedly. He didn't like the whole 'mating for life' thing either. Witchers (and _łabędź_ ) lived for such a long time.  
Jaskier bumped him with his shoulder. 'But hey.'  
'What.'  
'I'll return to you every time, if you'll have me.'  
Geralt rolled his eyes and kissed him. It was new and old and amazing. The feathers on his coat puffed up in delight.  
'I will.'  
Their kiss deepened for a little while, Geralt laying a tentative hand on Jaskier's coat and Jaskier letting him. Of course he would let him. It was _Geralt_. His coat agreed, fluffing up under the Witcher's hand.  
'Did we kiss, before this?' Geralt asked, mildly confused.  
'Nah, but I've always wanted to.'  
'Hm.' he said. Then: 'Jaskier?'  
'Hm-hmm?'  
'Don't make me eat fish stew ever again.'  
Jaskier laughed, sealed the deal with a kiss. 'Promise.'

*

They got to the coast, with a quick stop at Kaer Morhen. Summer had arrived, and the weather was getting hot enough to retreat to the coolness of the ocean.  
And Ciri had missed the ocean, too.   
  
'RIN! RIN! Look at my coat!' Jaskier ran down the beach, his feathered coat flapping behind him. He transformed mid-leap and flew gracefully over to the water's edge.   
Ciri ran behind him, her pale blonde hair flowing in the wind. Geralt walked a ways away, not bothering to run on the dry sand.  
A seal face with dark eyes peeked out of the surf, before blobbing onto land. Like a trick of the light, she suddenly looked a lot more human.  
Hugging her friends, Rin and Jaskier took a minute to admire each other's coats.  
Then she said the words Jaskier wanted to hear most.  
'Want to go for a swim?'

Geralt rented a boat for him and Ciri, and was surprised to say the least to see that he didn't have to row a single stroke. Instead, Rin's family bobbed up and along the boat, steering it into deeper waters.  
Ciri had been taught to swim by her grandfather, but got an even better swimming lesson from the _foka_. Geralt was already a strong swimmer, but Ciri and the _foka_ challenged him to a race.  
On the journey home, Ciri said she might be hoping for some of that fish stew she had smelled at the tavern.  
Geralt promptly went into the woods to hunt a rabbit.

They didn't stay together all the time. They couldn't. Geralt had multiple jobs around, a young Witcher to raise, and Jaskier was still in employment for some governments as a spy.  
A rather more well-paid spy, now he had found his coat.

They didn't see each other every week. Nor every month.

But sometimes, when the weather was fair, Geralt could see the shape of huge wings above him. A musical trill would echo, for the bard hadn't lost his voice, and a swan would come down from the heavens, carrying a lute on his back.  
A trick of the eye, and Geralt got to see his very best friend in the whole wide world again.  
And his favourite partner.

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stop writing this story  
> So for your reader's glory  
> Next chapter will be fine  
> Pure fluff: Where The Coast Lines


	3. Where the Coast Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue time!!

'Don't insult the Witcher, or the swans in the pond will come and _bite your toes off!_ '  
'That was one time!'

*

'You don't hurt humans if you can, Witcher. I've heard about you.'  
'And you're right. But have you heard about him?'  
From behind the Witcher, two giant wings stretched out.  
'HISSSSSSSSS'

*

'So it'll be hundred oren for the first one, and then a- what the fuck is that?' the man standing across from Geralt interrupted himself. Geralt only had time to look around when a huge feathered swan barged into him and threw them both into the river.  
'I'll take your fucking coat, I swear it!' he yelled at the now transformed man, who was putting up quite a fight. The two ducked each others heads under water for a bit, the second man transforming back and fro into the huge swan. Eventually, Geralt managed to pin his wings to his body and carried Jaskier out of the river under his arm, both of them dripping with water.  
'Excuse my… friend. He's just happy to see me.'  
The swan bit his nose.

*

'I kissed a _foka_! I swear!'  
'I kissed a swan.'  
'No you fucking didn't.'  
Geralt leaned over and kissed Jaskier.  
'Yes I fucking did.'  
'Oh, right. Can I have a kiss, too?'  
'Lambert, what the fuck?'  
'Sure, why the fuck not' Jaskier said, starting to lean over.

*

'Jaskier.'  
'Hello, Yennefer. You're looking… terrifying.'  
'Thank you. Found your coat?'  
'Geralt did, yeah.' He spun around, showing off the pristine white feathers.  
'Can I ask you a favour?'  
'Does that favour have anything to do with you cutting off my pe-'  
'No, idiot. I want to learn to swim properly.'

*

'I've heard that the brothel in Lettenhove has a parade of prostitutes every Friday!' a man exclaimed excitedly to his friends. 'And they let you throw coins at them for looking!  
'You're welcome' Jaskier said smugly, taking a bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear hearts, this was a joy to type  
> I tried to make sure it lived to the hype  
> I hope you enjoyed this little tale of mine  
> And as we come to the end of the rhyme  
> I bid you a good day, night, or theresabout  
> Would you toss me a comment on your way out?

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr, if you want a breather  
> Or have a prompt for me, the @ is SleepingReader


End file.
